... And While I'm on the Subject of Clean Genitals...

I have to admit to feeling just a little bit superior to the guy next to me at the urinal when upon finishing, he squirts a gob of soap into his hand, washes vigorously, and then dries off, while I take a moment to admire my physique in the mirror and unwashed, strut out of the place with my head high.  I've thought this out, you see.  I'm going to make sense of the whole thing for you, and you may just come around to my point of view.

I don't wash my hands after using the washroom.  I don't see the point.  First of all, urine is basically sterile, as it contains ammonia.  Secondly, I don't piss on them anyway.  Thirdly, I bathe.  Here's my rationale:

At some point most days, I take a shower.  I don't have space here to accurately describe my complete grooming regimen, but take it from me - when I'm done, I'm clean.  Especially my junk.

Immediately upon completing said regimen, I dry off and put on a pair of freshly laundered undergarments - the style and fit of which will vary from day to day depending on what I plan to do that day, and whether or not I've reached the bottom of the pile where all the old, worn out underwear are.  But regardless, they're clean.

Then I put on the rest of my clothes, and go about my day.

Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm a pretty tactile person and I touch stuff constantly, usually with my hands.  Doorknobs, butter knives, dish cloths, my cat, whatever.  There are a lot of things to touch in a day.  Thing is, most of them have been touched by other people and other things, like insects, bacteria and such.  That stuff all transfers over to my hands.  Can you imagine how many people have touched, handled, maybe even stuffed into a g-string, that beat up old five in your wallet?  What about your debit card?  Where have you put THAT lately?  And don't even get me started on the hand-shaking thing.

So later in the day, maybe after a beer or two (handed to me by a waitress that's been serving beer to hundreds of other grimy people, and let's face it, people are dirty fuckers), I have to take a leak.  I go to the washroom, do my business, and guess what... my meat and veg is exactly where I left it last - in my pants.  Hasn't touched anything but the inside of my clean gontch. Which leads me to the following conclusion:  It's the old hymen hammer that needs freshening up, not my hands.  If we can get honest to Jesus, bona fide ball washers installed in the washrooms of this great country, I'll be the first one in line.  Until then, dear scrubber - I'm better than you.